


That Which We Die For

by lesbianophelia



Series: Canon Compliant [1]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Brotp, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Headcanon, because hijacked!Peeta says the f word a few times, only really rated T
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianophelia/pseuds/lesbianophelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That which we die for lives as wholly as that which we live for dies.”</p><p>― E.E. Cummings. </p><p>(Or, how Primrose Everdeen was Peeta Mellark's best friend after his first Hunger Games. Told in ten parts, spanning the length of the series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Which We Die For

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sad one.

**_“They are beautifully iced with softly colored flowers. The frosting work can only be Peeta’s.” --_** **Catching Fire, chapter two.**

 

**001:**

He doesn’t have very many cookies left to frost by the time he realizes that he has nothing to do with them. He wanted so badly to go back to work at the bakery, even in spite of the fact that it meant he would have to spend time with his mother. He wanted something – _anything_ – to help him fill up the empty hours in his empty new house.

 

It’s _illegal_. Just as it’s illegal for him to go back to school. He was talking to her on the phone, but he could practically see the way that Effie Trinket must have been shaking her head. “Oh, darling boy,” she had said. “How is it ever going to make anyone want to be a victor if you live like all the others?”

 

He still isn’t sure that he would wish this on anyone.

 

He knows that he wouldn’t be the only one to get in trouble if he were to leave them in the Seam. And besides, if knowing Katniss has taught him anything at all, they wouldn’t really be eaten. Not if it was clear that they were from him. If they thought they would _owe_ him. He still doesn’t understand how Katniss – no.  He can’t think about that. It’s miserable and pathetic and even though Haymitch _claims_ that Katniss misses him, Peeta doesn’t see it.

 

Not with her house. It’s constantly busy. Rooms lighting up and going dark. Katniss coming and going. People coming to ask her mother and sister for help. He doesn’t see how Katniss can possibly miss him. Not when he’s barely left his fucking house and she hasn’t even bothered to come and check on him.

 

Primrose has.

 

She came over one day and Peeta desperately hoped that the knock on the door was from Katniss, but it wasn’t. It was from her sister. He’s not sure what he expected. Maybe that she wanted to tell him that Katniss missed him but was too stubborn to say anything – that was Haymitch’s theory – or maybe they needed his help.

 

That would have been nice. To be needed. But instead she presented him with a neatly wrapped little package.

 

“Goat cheese,” she said, her smile stretching from ear to ear. “Lady – my goat – has been making milk like _craaazy_ lately. The goat man said that he thinks it’s because she’s living better now than she was before. Probably because of all of the food. But I thought you might want some. I know you mentioned a goat cheese and apple tart. And . . .” she faltered, maybe at the mention of the games. But she had done the impossible already. Had managed to cheer Peeta up.

 

“Do you want to help me make them?” he asked. “I think . . . I might have everything except for the apples. So, if you want to come back by after I run into town, I should be able to throw some together.”

 

She looked absolutely delighted. “We have apples!”

 

For a moment, he was afraid that she was going to mention Katniss. But she didn’t. “I went to the meadow myself. Just the other day! Should I go get them?”

 

“Your sister won’t mind you hanging out here with me?” he asked, somewhat hesitant. He was still mad at her – mad, sad, angry, devastated. All the same thing, right? – but he didn’t want to start a fight, exactly.

 

She scoffed. “No. She’s not even home today. You’ll really teach me?”

 

“Of course I will. Just let yourself in when you come back. Okay?”

 

She nodded eagerly. He didn't realize that his house was a mess until he was expecting company. Really, he had her to thank for the fact that he finally got the boxes upstairs to one of the extra rooms.

 

She was a quick learner. Insisted that he call her _Prim_ rather than Primrose, and genuinely seemed to like the quiet work. He kept waiting for her to mention her sister, but she didn't. Even when they sat at the table and very nearly burned their mouths on the pastries and Prim had given him a look from across the table and said “How _are_ you, Peeta?”

 

And he didn't know how to answer the question. She nodded, said something that sounded like _that's what I was afraid of_ , and then went back to eating. Before he even managed to wonder what she meant, she went back to talking about her goat. About how she wondered if they could make anything else.

 

“You come over anytime you want,” he said. “I'll show you how to make everything.”

 

She'll get the cookies, then. She mentioned, when Peeta showed her how to ice the little petit fours, always wanting to look at the cakes in the window on her way home from school.

 

That settles it. He gets to work on piping out little frosting primroses in addition to the lilies and rosebuds that have been adorning the others.

 

__

 

Prim is the one to answer the door in the morning. He's glad. It took enough to gather the courage to knock on the door. He isn't sure he can handle seeing Katniss.

 

“Hey!” Prim says. “What's going on?”

 

“I made these,” he says, leaning on the cane and holding the box out for Prim. It seems silly. He'll have to come up with something new to teach her on Sunday, when she comes over for her next lesson.

 

“Oh! Wow!” she breathes, cracking the kid to look at it. “These are beautiful! How did you find the time?”

 

“Who is it?” Katniss calls from wherever she's hidden in the house. Peeta's gut twists painfully at just the sound of her voice. Prim frowns.

 

“I'll see you later?” he asks, even though everything inside of him wants to retreat. To cancel his plans and hide away in his house again until at least the next time Delly comes to visit and make him feel guilty for not showing his face in town often enough, even if that's not her intention.

 

“Can . . . could you show me how to make these?” Prim asks. She looks hesitant. Like maybe she thinks that he’ll say no.  
  
“Of course,” he says. “It’ll be after the tour. Think about what else you want to learn, okay? We’ll have some lost time to make up for.”  
  
She nods.  
  
“Prim?” Katniss asks again.  
  
“Give me a minute!” Prim calls, and then looks very serious -- and much older than she is -- when she looks at Peeta. “You’ll take care of her while she’s gone. Won’t you?”  
  
He nods. He’s genuinely surprised when Prim steps forward to hug him, but it’s _nice_. “I’ll see you, okay?” he asks.  
  
She nods. “Thank you, Peeta.”

* * *

  
**We’re only at the train station briefly, to smile and wave as we pile into our car. We don’t even get to see our families until the dinner tonight. -- Catching Fire, chapter six.**  
  
 **002:**  
  
Prim missed Katniss. Peeta knows that it’s ridiculous to be jealous. That he couldn’t have possibly expected his brothers to flock to him the way that Prim did as soon as they were released in the mayor’s house.  
  
He couldn’t have expected to get another hug from Prim, either, though. And he catches sight of Katniss over her shoulder. “Hey, Prim,” he murmurs.  
  
“Hey, Peeta,” she returns. “We missed you!”  
  
  
Prim ends up across from Katniss and Peeta during the meal, and Peeta tries not to focus on the fact that his mother wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t required and listens to the story about Buttercup sleeping in Katniss’ bed while she was gone, instead.

* * *

 

 **“My mother pours water into a kettle into a basin while ordering Prim to pull a series of her remedies from the medicine cabinet.” -- Catching Fire, chapter eight.**  
  
 **003:**  
  
It’s so different, seeing Prim as a healer. Of course, it’s different enough being in Katniss’ house, everything just like his but opposite. Reversed.  
  
Prim works hard, focused on nothing other than the task at hand. Peeta can’t help himself but to feel useless. Not able to help with Gale for lack of knowledge. And, of course, there’s a certain cruel pain in not being able to help Katniss. Not being the one that she wants, even as his mother instructs them to get some snow on her eye. Oh. Her eye. He’s nursed tons of black eyes over the years, but there’s something about seeing Katniss’ skin marked and bloody that makes his stomach turn.  
  
Prim, though younger and usually so thrilled with the frosting creations he’s been steadily teaching her how to make, is so good at all of this that it’s stunning.

* * *

  
**I fling my bag down and turn to Prim, who’s standing stiffly by the hearth. Haymitch and Peeta are there as well, sitting in a pair of matching rockers, playing a game of chess. -- Catching Fire, chapter eleven.**  
  
 **004:**  
  
It’s sort of a coincidence, him being there the night that Katniss doesn’t come home. Prim announced that they would have an empty kitchen and that she wanted to bake at her house, and though it meant that Peeta had to keep hurrying to his house to get things that the Everdeens just didn’t have -- vanilla extract, baking soda, copious amounts of flour -- he did it without complaint.  
  
Because Prim was _worried_. Katniss had left the house once a box of wedding dresses that Peeta steadfastly ignored had arrived, and she hadn’t been back. Prim -- too smart for her age -- didn’t say it out loud. Maybe she knew that they were never safe. Of course, Peeta can’t picture Katniss saying that. Not with how protective she is. And he’s sure as hell not about to be the one to tell Prim that she _ought_ to worry, with Katniss being out all day long.  
  
So they bake. Everything that she wants to learn and more. And he hugs her when she looks towards the door a few too many times, reminding her that Katniss is smart and strong and brave and Prim sniffles but has it together by the time she pulls away.  
  
  
It’s Prim’s idea, inviting Haymitch for dinner. He’s been by a few times -- Peeta has, too. More and more, since Prim started insisting that he needs to eat the fruits of his labor -- and knows that an Everdeen dinner will be the best he has in who-knows-how-long before he even realizes that Katniss is gone.  
  
  
“Psst, Prim,” he says, noticing how stiffly Prim is sitting at the table. She turns to look at him, and he looks down at the chessboard pointedly. “A little help here?”  
  
She laughs. He thinks it’s a nervous tick. “I don’t even know how to play!”  
  
Haymitch raises his eyebrows. “I bet baker boy here can fix that for you.”  
  
“I’ll teach you,” Peeta agrees.  
  
  
They’re not even into the specifics of what each piece can do before the knock at the door comes. Prim heads for the door, but Mrs. Everdeen shakes her head.  
  
“I’ll get it.”  
  
Prim nods. “That’s the . . . rook?”  
  
He smiles. “Yeah. you’re getting it.”  
  
  
It’s uncomfortable, but Prim stays by the chess board. Peeta tries to somehow both speak and listen in on the conversation that Mrs. Everdeen is having with peacekeepers.  
  
“Good move,” Peeta says, nodding. She looks a little amused when she realizes what he’s doing. The pieces haven’t shifted at all.  
  
“I don’t think we’ll beat Haymitch,” she says drily. “He’s been doing this longer.”  
  
“He’s been doing everything longer,” Peeta says, and then winks at Prim. “Look at that! I got away with calling him old. His head’s really in the game tonight.”  
  
When Katniss comes, Prim closes her eyes and tries to fight a sigh of relief. He’s concerned, but he really shouldn’t be. Prim plays her part perfectly when Katniss -- who is clearly in pain, _again_ \-- starts complaining about the Goat Man and the slag heap.  
  
“No. When did you say that?” Katniss demands.  
  
“Last night,” Haymitch chimes in, and Peeta is more than grateful for the opportunity to play along.  
  
“It was definitely the east.”  
  
They laugh. Maybe at amazement that this is working. Or maybe because it sounds just like Katniss, not listening. Prim looks amused, too.  
  
  
He can’t help but to be relieved when the game bag doesn’t have anything incriminating in them. He pretends that his joy is about the peppermints instead. He tosses the bag to Haymitch and Prim _giggles_ when he hands the bag over.  
  
 _She’s twelve_ , a voice in his head reminds him, because the laughter is such a startling reminder. _She shouldn’t have to deal with this._  
  
But she does. So well that Peeta is sort of afraid he’s rubbing off on her.

* * *

 

 **“My mother puts on us a special diet to gain weight. Prim treats our sore muscles.” - Catching Fire, chapter thirteen.**  
  
 **005:**  
  
Prim knows his plan. She must, because while she has some sort of salve that she prescribes for them all to use, she doesn’t talk to him. It’s just like the days before the tour. When he knew they were both thinking of Katniss but neither of them said anything.  
  
But one night, after Katniss has stomped up the stairs, still upset with Peeta for pushing maybe a little bit too hard, Prim had given him a look and said, “Thank you, Peeta.”  
  
And he was even more convinced. He couldn’t take Katniss from Prim.

* * *

  
**“We’ll write letters, Katniss,” says Peeta from behind me. “It will be better, anyway. Give them a piece of us to hold onto. Haymitch will deliver them for us if . . . they need to be delivered.” - Catching Fire, chapter fourteen.**

 

 **006:**  
  
He writes Prim a letter, but she never gets it.

* * *

  
**“Katniss, I don’t think you understand how important you are to the cause. Important people usually get what they want. If you want to keep Peeta safe from the rebels, you can.” - Mockingjay, chapter three.**

 

 **007:**  
  
He doesn’t know why it is that he doesn’t hate Prim. Some gnarled part deep inside wants to. Wants to hate her. Or distrust her. Or _something_. And while she’s slightly timid -- a consequence, probably, of him trying to strangle her sister -- she’s one of the few nurses that are willing to make eye contact with him.  
  
“You saved everyone, you know,” she says. “With your warning.”  
  
Peeta grimaces, but it’s half hearted if anything.  
  
“This isn’t you, you know,” she says, her voice quiet. It isn’t staged, then. He can tell because she doesn’t look over at the mirror that he’s sure is a window.  
  
“You don’t know me,” he says, but his voice is quiet. Doubtful.  
  
“But I _do_ ,” Prim says. “I do know you. We were friends.”  
  
 _Friends_. Peeta doesn’t have any friends. Except . . . Delly came to visit. And this . . . Prim visiting with him. Talking to him like -- like a person, rather than some kind of feral beast. “You’re her sister,” he says numbly.  
  
He can see it, too. Can see it despite the blondness of her braid. Despite the hesitant smiles she keeps sneaking him.  
  
“I’m her sister,” Prim agrees. “But I’m your friend, too. You taught me to bake.”  
  
He scrunches his eyes closed tightly and he _remembers_. It comes in flashes. But it’s _real_ , her coming to his house and baking with him. Because Katniss, her mutt of a sister waited around every corner in her home, fangs exposed, dripping and -  
  
“Peeta.”  
  
Her voice pulls his back. He has to blink a couple of times. “You brought me goat cheese.”  
  
Prim smiles. “Yes! Yes. I brought you goat cheese. And you taught me how to make apple tarts with them.”  
  
“She didn’t want you to.”  
  
“No. Katniss --” she hesitates, as if just the mention of her name is going to send him into a panic. It nearly does. Every muscle in his body tenses, but he’s chained to the bed. “She didn’t mind. She thought . . . She thought it was good.”  
  
 _She’s a mutt. She’s a mutt. She’s a mutt_. “I want to be alone.”  
  
Something like sadness washes over her features, but then she nods. “Okay, Peeta. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

  
**“Prim came up with the idea of trying to hijack him back,” Haymitch tells me. - Mockingjay, Chapter Fourteen.**  
  
 **008:**  
  
It’s Prim that has to explain why Katniss went to District Two. He won’t hear it from anyone else.  
  
“She . . . left?”  
  
“She left,” Prim agrees. “She’s . . . she’s nervous, Peeta.”  
  
“Afraid.” Peeta rolls his eyes, jaw clenching. “She’s _afraid_ of me. The mutt -”  
  
“Peeta!” Prim says, her voice so harsh that it startles Peeta. Almost all the way back into himself. “You don’t think that. Do you?”  
  
His eyes sting with tears that he refuses to shed. “I don’t know what I think.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Peeta,” Prim says.

* * *

  
**First Cressida and Pollux, who will act as guides while keeping a safe lead on us. Then Gale and myself, who intent to position ourselves among the refugees assigned to the mansion today. Then Peeta, who will trail behind us, ready to create a disturbance as needed. - Mockingjay, Chapter 25.**  
  
 **009:**  
He sees her die. It happens so quickly. First he’s trying to find Katniss. Trying to make sure that she’s safe.  
  
That was his mission in not one but two arenas. Real or not real?  
  
Possibly three. It only makes sense, with the silver parachutes raining down on the tributes -- on the _children_ in front of the president’s mansion. His hands begin to shake. Things go silver around the edges. He digs his nails into his palms, trying desperately to get a fucking grip.  
  
And then the parachutes explode. Not all of them. But enough to make him push through the crowd. To get him to search for Katniss. He has to find her.  
  
“Prim! Prim!”  
  
It’s Katniss, but still, he whips around at the sound of the name she’s calling. _Prim_. Danger. Parachutes. Tributes. Children. Real. He catches sight of her, with the other rebel medics. Notices her turn around sharply and look somewhere to his right. When did she start wearing her braid in one single braid?  
  
Prim must see Katniss. Her lips form her name.  
  
And then the rest of the parachutes go off.

* * *

  
**“I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her,” he says. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.”**  
  
 **I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the word _rose_ registers. I’m about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for.**  
 **\-- Mockingjay, chapter twenty seven.**  
  
 **010:**  
His loss seems so small in comparison to Katniss’. The doctors say that it’s not a healthy way to think -- though they’re cheerful at the thought that he’s worrying about the mockingjay. He can tell by the way their pens scrape against their paper.  
  
They say that Peeta has to mourn his losses. That he has the right to feel sad. That he lost his _friend_. And just as it was once hard to find a word to describe Katniss, it’s now hard to decide how he needs to describe Prim.  
  
 _Ally. Doctor. Healer. Baker. Friend. Sister._  
  
It’s the last one that pulls him up short. That gives his grief a name. Couldn’t she have been his sister, had he married Katniss the way that they were supposed to? Or even just the way that he told everyone he did, that night before the quell.  
  
  
Prim -- whoever she was to him, he still isn’t sure -- is dead. _Real_. And she very nearly took Katniss with her, judging by the look of her when she catches him with primroses clutched in his shaking hands. Wild and starving. Looking more like a girl than a woman.  
  
  
It isn’t easy. None of it is. He feels like maybe it never will be. One evening, before she’s officially moved into his house in the Victor’s Village, where there’s a remarkable lack of ghosts to haunt his guest rooms, she finds her crumpled on the floor. Hidden in a closet, behind a few hanging jackets from the Victory Tour.  
  
“You don’t understand!” she tries to say, pushing him away when he tries comforting her. “You don’t . . . you don’t understand.”  
  
He does. In more ways than she’s even thinking of right now. “Katniss,” he says, his voice quiet. He doesn’t trust it to get much louder for fear of it breaking. “Katniss. You aren’t the only one who loved her.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, all of my love and eternal gratitude to Gentlemama for handholding while I wrote this fic, beta-ing in like two seconds flat, and for the heartbreaking observation that Peeta was there to see Prim die. 
> 
> A lot of this is my headcanon, but it fits with the books, so we'll call it canon compliant.


End file.
